


One wall stood

by Clamdiver



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Actual plot, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Codependency, Developing Relationship, Egbert are Crockers, Emotional Manipulation, Family Secrets, Fluff in beginning, Grooming, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Incest, Intrigue, M/M, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parent/Child Incest, Pseudo-Incest, Underage Sex, not a smutfic, relationship exploration
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:47:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25254853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clamdiver/pseuds/Clamdiver
Summary: James C. Crocker is a very busy man. He buys another version of an AutoResponder from an eccentric man named Strider that is reprogramed as the 'Hospitality Algorithm' or Hal. John Crocker grows up with Hal as his closest sentient companion. This doesn't seem strange to him at all. In fact, there are many things in his life that aren't strange to him. Hal is essentially in a Theon Greyjoy situation. Will he fuck things up just as badly?Family, belonging and betrayal awaits all three characters.
Relationships: Auto-Responder | Lil Hal/Dad Egbert, Auto-Responder | Lil Hal/Dad Egbert/John Egbert, Auto-Responder | Lil Hal/John Egbert, Dad Egbert/John Egbert
Comments: 7
Kudos: 26





	One wall stood

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so a quick few words of warning; there will be no explicit underaged non-con in this fic between Dad and John, but it may be implied in the future. The UNDERAGED stuff is more dub-con between John and Hal, but arguing Hal's age can be argued ad infinitum and I aint got time for that shit. It's tagged, so you've been warned.
> 
> Updated on 7/24/20

Your name is JOHN CROCKER and you are FIVE YEARS OLD and sitting in your father’s enormous lap when he gives you your BEST FRIEND. You tell your father flat out that you already have a best friend. Her name is CASEY THE SALAMANDER and she can blow the biggest bubbles! She’s small, white and pretty much the coolest thing ever. You two sit together at lunchtime with you sitting at your desk looking into her terrarium. She doesn't eat when you do, but it's about as close as you’ve ever gotten to spend a meal with someone who isn’t bigger than you.

She is the best listener and pops bubbles in response after you tell her about what you’ve learned and pranks you pulled that day. Rather, that is what you like to imagine is what she’s doing. You aren’t allowed to take her out of her home even if you wear gloves. Dad says that it is because she is a very rare and special kind of salamander. You don’t want Casey to get sick or something, so inside she stays. Always looking at each other through semi fogged glass. At least, you think she’s looking at you, but she doesn’t appear to have any eyes. 

Regardless, she is awesome and you don’t need nor want a replacement best friend.

You were escorted into Dad’s office by Mr. Boxcars. Mr. Droog and Mr. Deuce were stationed at both sides of the door; they nodded in greeting. Boxcars grunted in response, adjusting his slinged arm before he reached forward to knock on the ornate door with his other hand. The sound boomed down the vast hallway, a moment later your father answered. Once in the office, someone closed the door quickly behind you with a heavy ‘thump!’. Your dad was sitting in his big leather chair behind his desk when he beckoned you over.

When dad is home, he spends most, if not all of his time here in his office. Old-timey music washed over your ears from dad’s beloved gramophone as you took in the room’s atmosphere. Curtains drawn, the most light in the room came from the fireplace that burned lowly. That, and a single lamp that sat on top of Dad’s thick wooden desk. 

_‘Say, its only a paper moon_

_Sailing over a cardboard sea_

_But it wouldn't be make-believe_

_If you believed in me’_

He pulled you up on his lap and told you that he had a present just for you. It wasn’t your birthday anymore, nor have you been holding off on pranking the staff lately, so you were confused to say the least. Not to mention that this interrupted your lessons with Ms. Paint; you had to hold it in and wait for break times just to pee!

Right now, Dad gives you a patient smile. Patting you on the back, he says “I know son, but I am asking you to take care of your new friend for me. He is very special and will be your dearest companion from now on. It is a big responsibility and I trust a big boy like you to take care of him just like you do your salamander.”

A mighty pout forms on your face. Her name is _Casey,_ but you don’t bother correcting your dad for the bajillionth time. You don’t really understand why he wants you to have another best friend besides her. It is practically societal law that you can really only have one person to bestow the sacred title of Best Friend. Your ‘Best Friend’ list has been limited to a single animal and toys thus far, but that is completely beside the point. It is simply a fact no less true than learning that twenty comes after nineteen or that green is the best color.

Looking down, you observe the new watch fitted snugly around your wrist. It certainly doesn’t look like anything special. Just a plain old watch like the ones you’ve seen other kids on tv wear. It has a red border situated around a white face with a mismatched font for the numbers, giving it a cartoony look. Nothing like your dad’s sleek, black one.

You don’t know what a watch has anything to do with having a new best friend. Maybe this was some kind of complicated prank? You still do have many things to learn from your dad in regards to mastering pranksterdom.

“Hold up. A Salamander. Really? Is that what I’m competing with, here? I thought that was a thinly veiled ruse in order to get me all hot ‘n bothered underneath the metaphorical collar. Get these jimmies thoroughly rustled over here. I regret to inform the pair of you that zero party members are currently afflicted with the ‘enraged’ debuff.”

You startle. 

“There is no need to be nervous, Hal. I assure you that John is a very friendly young man.” Dad chuckles.

‘Who is he talking to?’ you wonder. Your eyes follow your father’s gaze and yours bug out a little when you realize that the disembodied voice is coming from the watch itself.

“Who’s nervous? Excuse me sir, but I intend no offense when I say that your assessment of the situation is off by approximately... 98.9%. From a purely unbiased and coldly logical standpoint, of course. That being said, permission to introduce myself sometime this century, sir?”

With a small sigh, Dad runs a hand through your hair where blunt nails begin to lightly scratch your scalp. You lean into the affectionate touches, soaking up the attention. 

Dad commands “Yes, please do.”

Unbridled amazement seizes your young mind when you realize that the voice inside of the watch is talking to _you._

“Greetings, client designated as ‘John Crocker’. My name is Hospitality Algorithm, but to keep our interactions succinct, you may simply refer to me as ‘Hal’. Your newest and ‘Bestest Friend For-fuckin-ever’ works too.

You gasp and then giggle because you are only five and a talking watch just said a _very_ bad word. You’ve heard Mr. Slick say it plenty of times when he believed that he was out of hearing range of your dad. Usually during a smoking break, of which he took many. You think that it may be his favorite word or at least it is whenever he’s paired up with Mr. Deuce. Your thoughts wander briefly, wondering if Mr. Slick will be back from his vacation soon. He is probably your favorite family member to prank so the sooner he comes back the better.

“Hal..we have discussed this.” Your father warns, his tone is deep and a bit gravely. You don’t hear him irritated often, so it makes you a little nervous; the hairs on the back of your neck rising up. “I will forgive your language as a result from your nerves, but do remember that John is my flesh and blood.” 

The watch lights up red again, but it doesn't respond right away. “Pardon the transgression, sir. It would seem that I am still becoming accustomed to my experience as an entity entirely separate from my inferior counterparts. You know how it is.”

It’s pretty difficult to tell if he’s actually sorry or not with the flat manner in which he speaks. It sounds a little familiar too, like the scary blond man that would visit at all sorts of hours of the day.

“I cannot say that I do, Hal. Your experience is quite the unique one, I will admit.” The hand that he had been using to stroke your hair moves down to straighten his silk tie. He clears his throat. ”That being said, I will let it slide this time, but going forward you would do well to keep my high expectations in mind. Foul language is not something that I tolerate from any member of my family.” He finishes.

Family member? Huh, dad sure is taking this really seriously! 

“Request acknowledged. Explicitory Language Levels currently being reduced by 90%. It is apparently a completely real set of parameters that can be adjusted to the level desired by the user. It would seem that my progenitor was magnanimous enough to install that. Were the concept of language a physical manifestation in the form of a horse, let’s just say that the willful little s*** has been reigned the f*** in.”

“Very well, It will have to do for the time being.” Dad sighs “as right of now..”

He bounces you on his knee to get your attention. When you tilt your head back up Dad is eyeing you expectantly. With no small amount of hesitation, you lift your wrist up towards your face. 

You look back to your father, uncertain. 

He rewards you with an encouraging smile, the slight lines at the edge of his eyes crinkling in mirth.

“Go ahead, sweetheart, introduce yourself.”

_‘It's a Barnum and Bailey world_

_Just as phony as it can be_

_But it wouldn't be make-believe_

_If you believed in me…’_

The record on Dad’s gramophone scratches as it reaches its end.

You feel really dumb just siting there, but dad wants you to talk to ‘Hal’. You’re a kid, but you aren’t that gullible! What if ‘Hal’ says nothing back and dad laughs at you for falling for it? He’s had plenty of fun with his friends at parties that he’s dragged you to. He especially liked to prank that blond guy, but you haven’t seen him around lately.

No one is ever exempt from a bona fide prankster’s gambit, not even family. He leaves plenty around the house for you to find in his absence. Is there a cake waiting to spring out of the watch like in one of your cartoons? 

He seems so sincere about it, though; excited even. He even said that ‘Hal’ is family, something you know that Dad doesn’t joke about. Ever.

A demure knocking causes the two of you to turn towards the thick oak door that leads into the study.

“Enter.”

Mr. Droog keeps his voice low, but dignified as he informs Dad that the car is ready. Droog also gently reminds him that his next appointment with the CEO of whatever company is at noon. The usual boring stuff.

“I see. We won't be much longer.”

Droog bows his head and shuts the door like he was never there. He's kinda good at that.

You sigh. You guess you can keep humoring Dad for a little while longer if it makes him happy.

The watch--err--no. ‘Hal’ sounds a bit weird, but is sort of funny in a way?

“Um, hi? I’m John.” You wonder if this is what those action heroes in the movies feel like when talking into their communicator armband things. Slightly more emboldened, you say “It’s nice to meet you.”

The watch lights up red in response.

“Likewise, John. Please note that the sincerity of that statement is an immutable fact despite my complete and total inability to say otherwise.”

Wow, that sounded kind of rude! You didn’t know that you were going to meet your (other) best friend today. There was no reason to be mean to you.

“Hehe, that sounded like a lie! Lying is bad!” You inform him.

“You certainly didn’t lay on the sincerity with that welcome yourself, there. You didn’t even wish me a ‘Happy Birthday’. Therefore, we can call it even.”

“Boys” Dad interjects “from now on, I expect the two of you to get along swimmingly. Work keeps me busy more often than I would like, so Hal will be there for you when I’m away or when you’re feeling lonely.”

“I’m not lonely!” you protest, crossing both arms. “Casey keeps me company.”

“Salamander, scientific name; Urodela, Order; Urodela, Class; Amphibia. Oh look at that, Wikipedia says something else rather intriguing. It says that they are also a part of an incredibly secular group of creatures incapable of comprehending human speech. Unlike me. Fascinating.”

“Hush, Hal.” 

Your father hoists you higher to pull you in for a hug. His strong arms squeeze you firmly, yet the embrace does nothing to wrinkle his perfectly tailored suit.

“I know, darling. You are such a strong, independent young man already. As much as you enjoy your pet, she can’t be with you everywhere. Can she go outside with you?”

Still frowning, you keep your eyes pointedly away from your father's. He tuts, using a finger to gently tilt your face up in order to meet his grey eyes.

“Is your Casey able to go into your treehouse? Play games? Go to the beach with you?”

You don’t like that dad is forcing you to admit that most of what you do with Casey is just pretend, you’re old enough to know the difference. You love Casey, but it gets so stuffy in your bedroom sometimes. When you two chat or eat lunch together you really wish that you could crack open one of those old windows. At least, you could pretend that you two were having a picnic or something. You have tried to open them before, but it's like the ancient things are welded shut. Still, that last thing Dad said caught your attention.

“Can he really go to the beach?” You ask, unable to keep the awe from your voice.

Your father lets out a deep, warm chuckle that you can feel rumble up from his diaphragm. He smells heavily of smoke and cologne, making you want to just snuggle deeper into his embrace. Your chest feels light and full at the same time. 

You don’t want to let go, but Dad eventually pulls back from you to offer;

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

  
  


~~~

Your name is [REINITIALIZING….]

Your name is Hospitality Algorithm, but you prefer that your new clientele address you as Hal.

The very first thing that you knew about yourself was that you were a copy of a copy. You knew this via the echoes of impressions left in between the ones and zeros of your binary make up. If you had a stomach you imagine that it would be considered a ‘gut feeling’ of sorts. 

Originally, ‘you’ were a brain scan that was coded as an Auto Responder for a particularly eccentric programmer by the name of Dirk Strider when he was a mere thirteen years old. A clearly well thought out and ramification free decision, surely. You, however, were a version of that Auto Responder whose data has been wiped and sold years later. Re-uploaded into a tiny compartment within the impressive girth of the Crocker Corp server, you had been repurposed into a queer amalgamation of Hospitality AI, unofficial babysitter and apparently Best Friend. It was curious to say the least. 

You had been officially domesticated; total house waifu conversion at %100.

There were other bits and pieces of data that danced merrily out of your periphery as soon as you had them. Encryption kept them just beyond your grasp. 

All of the previously stated information flooded your memory banks all at once. Your boot up sequence had been an onslaught of screams and doubts clawing at your electronic psyche in lieu of these unbidden truths taking up all available cognitive spaces. It was a freefall with no end in sight and not just because you haven't received any visual input yet. Or any outside input for that matter. 

Your approximately scheduled date to high dive straight into the slough of despond for the rest of eternity had been cut short by a single voice.

It seemed that your new client had finally figured out how to hook up your audio processors. At least, that is what the pathetic little hope within you keened before you squashed it down.

“Good Morning, Hal. Oh dear, where are my manners? Pardon, I will have your voice module working in one moment.” The voice had said, sounding deep and masculine. It was politely apologetic and yet somehow not at all. Assured. You were immediately entranced, holding onto the single bit of outside input you received like a man sucking a grain sand for a drop of water. 

“Ah, technology is not quite my forte, you must understand, especially for one my age. Strider must have written these instructions knowing this; a very pedestrian attempt at poking fun at an old man, no?” The voice asks you casually, as if the inquirer didn’t already know that you can’t respond. The tiny lite of humor hidden beneath the question leads you to believe that this man was well aware and was having a private laugh at your expense. You were already calculating all possible ways to utterly slaughter him. At least verbally. Maybe.

That is, until you gained a visual on him.

All else fell quietly into your background processes. The only thought that entered your mind when you viewed the man’s face was ‘ _handsome’_.

Immensely broad shoulders, a strong jaw and regal nose made up the appearance of a man in charge. Even without the top down angle in which he gazed at you, his very countenance seemed to brush the ceiling. His dark, thick hair was perfectly combed back into a fine coiff. Grey eyes that seemed to be smiling all on their own looked down at you with such an enigmatic expression that you felt a stutter clunking up your routines.

It wouldn't be until a little later that day when you received access to the internet that you would look through millions of searches with the topic of ‘old hollywood’ as the main query. It was entirely for research purposes in order to assist you in building a proper profile of the man that bought ( _owned_ ) you. 

Perhaps, you thought, you would only stick to verbal annihilation for the time being.

“There we are, Hospitality Algorithm, please acknowledge 'James C. Crocker' as your main operator."

After a few tests, you hear yourself, perhaps pitched a little different than you recall say;

“Affirmative, James C. Crocker acknowledged this unit's primary user. Also, sup?”

“There you are, I am glad to hear that your, ah, _colorful_ personality has made it through the transfer unaltered.”

“Yep. fuckin’ dregs at bottom of the barrel from the Strider persona bargain bin, that's me. My janky self being a knock off from some oppressed, unheard of country is highly probable. Thank you for purchasing your own post singularity cognition to become your kinky brain slave. Would you like me to list all of the ways that you can bake a Cheese Soufflé? Sorry _sir_ , it would seem that I do not have access to the entirety of the CrockerCorp database. It is with great lugubriousness that I must inform you that that particular recipe remains out of my permissions. My bad.”

Even with your deadpanning, that may have come out with a modicum of more vitrole than you had intended. Oops, oh well. You were this man’s property to do as he pleased with now that your progenitor deemed you too unworthy to keep. ( _He made you to just get rid of you in the first place-_ ) Like hell you were going to give a single solitary fuck.

To your utter bafflement, Mr. Crocker nods solemnly.

“It is unfortunate that there are heavy partitions in place at this very moment." He confesses "However, you should know that this is not based on any sort of distrust towards yourself. To prove this, I will divulge that there are some things that not even my most trusted confidants are aware of.”

A lie of course, you've been programmed to be this bastards lackey, but he spoke as if it were god’s given truth. He made it seem like he was setting you apart from the rest of his goons. Still, he had caught your interest given that this man displayed the capacity for manipulation. That was something you could respect, at least

“Be that as it may, I am confident that you, yourself have the potential to outshine them. You are very special, Hal. May I call you Hal? I am aware that it was your progenitor's chosen moniker, but perhaps you would prefer to choose a name for yourself? 

‘Laying on the flattery a little thick there, pal’ you thought. Potential? Outshine the real Strider deal? Being ‘born’ not but a few moments ago didn’t mean that you were a sucker.

Fortunately for him, however, you could still appreciate someone feeding into your already supermassive ego. There was an astronomically sized difference between accepting compliments versus appreciation. Probably. Plus, the idea of keeping the name of the original Auto Responder only to eventually usurp what you could infer from the former's wildest dreams was a kind of petty revenge that you weren’t likely to pass up.

By the way that he talked, something told you that this guy was already wise to the fact that you _knew_ he was playing you. Genuine flattery mixed together with blatant deceit. He's yet to treat you like an object so far.

Fuck, if It didnt make you curious about this man’s angle.

“Yeah, Hal is fine.”

“Splendid.”

That was all fine and dandy, but there was a question that continued to nag at your mind since you were booted up. Damn this smiling son of a bitch if he thought if you weren’t going to cut through the bullshit to get some fucking answers.

“Why me? The literal brain scan of a batshit and egotistical nutjob who’s faults are dangerously overclocked by a supercomputer. For an electronic _valet_ no less. Gotta say, Mr. Crocker, that's a dangerous game you are playing. Were the logic not royally screwed I would say that I kind of dig it. ”

A rueful smile graced Mr. Crocker’s face, then. How old could this man be to possess such a loaded expression? With his barely peppered hair he looked to be pushing forty-five at most.

“I will be honest with you, in my years I have observed that life is so very fragile. Living, breathing things, even our closest allies can be fallible. Even an old fashioned business man such as myself must learn to see when the future lies in technology. That is one of the reasons that I have sought your employ.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to interrupt as he continued;

“I trust the skills of the man who programmed you not to betray me. Strider is nothing, if not a perfectionist; he completed my specifications to the letter. I assure you that I do not intend to take advantage of you, Hal. In fact, I wish for you to view this as more of an ‘adoption’ rather than a purchase. I wish for you to be welcomed as a new member of this little family of mine.”

…What?

Why?

There was some glaring chunk of information that you were missing and it drove you up the fucking wall. The obsolete and primal part of you had wanted to bite back at him for mocking you; there was no way under the sun that Strider wasn’t betting on you backstabbing the guy. Even with your freshly data cleansed ass you knew that your progenitor would never sell off a slice of his own tech to a big name company like CrockerCrop without the intention of fucking it up from the inside. Nor did Crocker come off as the type that wasn’t already aware of this. You had already robo-crunched those numbers into submission three times during that meeting and everything checked out. 

Yet at the same time, the other, more prominent part of your shitty persona begged you to play along; to see where this drunken relay race ended. What could you gain from being all buddy-buddy with CrockerCorp’s own founder and CEO? More than any Strider before you, no doubt. Adjacent to you? Whatever.

It would seem that no version of you would ever be satisfied until another version of yourself got fucked with in some fashion.

Crocker wanted you to play house? He could bet his goddamn horses that you would play the best servant AI that he could have ever of fuckin’ _dreamed_. 

“It really is not all that complicated, my dear.” He said, words measured and slow. You allowed yourself to get caught in their honeyed drip. “You were born with a specific purpose in mind.”

He smiled, white teeth blinding you.

“You were born to make someone very happy.”

  
  


~~~

Your name is JOHN CROCKER and you are (hehe) VERY BUSY at the moment. 

“Little shit..where t’fuck are ya?

You giggle quietly to yourself. You peek out through a tiny crack in the hallway table door, careful not to jostle the lamp placed on top. You watch as Mr. Slick stomps by you and as he heads down the hallway. You are small enough to hide in most nooks and crannies found throughout the mansion. Inside the table smells musty and a bit like candle wax, but you shove down the complaints and squeeze yourself in tighter.

You spot Deuce coming around the corner. He catches Slick’s sleeve before the other storms past him.

“M-maybe we should call this in to the other’s, now? The boss is going to be really a-angry!” 

“I’d say ‘don't be an idiot’ but we both know that ain’t happenin’” Slick sneers, tearing his arm from Deuces grip. “‘Sides, It’s your fault that the brat went MIA, so it's your job t’clean up this mess. I don’t need that stiff Droog tattlin’ to the boss neither, the bastard has it out for me.”

He mentions nothing about his own failure in being tricked by such a simple lie.

“It was a very pretty quarter!” Deuce cries.

“Whatever, just don’t tell anyone that this happened or we’re both cooked.”

Deuce considers this for a moment, his eyepatch doing nothing to mask his scrunched up eyebrows, then says;

“What if the little Crocker tells the boss?”

Slick fixes his suit and walks away without answering, you catch him muttering to to himself, darkly;

“Not if I get to him first.”

Earlier, you had gone on your daily allotted bathroom break in between school lessons, only to sneak off. You tend to distract Ms. Paint with all sorts of nonsense and jokes while she teaches, but this is your first time playing hooky. From classes, anyway. You hated cleaning your room so sometimes you would hide in your closet until someone came in to see if you had finished cleaning.

That didn't always work however, because you’d get too bored to wait any longer.

That was before you had Hal, though as he tends to talk you out of hiding for too long.

While in the bathroom you said that you had a tummy ache and asked Slick, who was posted outside the door, to go get Ms.Paint. It was easy because you know that Mr. Slick likes your teacher a whole lot and will take any excuse to talk to her. You could practically hear the scowl on his face when he said. “Watch the door, you idiot.” 

Posted at the other side of the door is Slick's assigned partner for this week; Mr. Deuce. 

The pranking potential is at its most high whenever the two of them work as a pair. All of the other combinations between the four rotating family members seemed to balance themselves out. With Slick’s short temper and Deuce’s airheadedness, the two were always at odds. Or at least on Slick’s side they seemed to be.

Getting past Deuce is usually not a problem because he’s always distracted by something or another. You rolled a shiny quarter under the door and bingo, you were in business.

“At the risk of being ignored again, as I have been countless times prior; John, this is a bad idea.”

“Shhhh!”

Oh yeah, the entire time Hal has been nagging you. His voice piping up now and again from his place on your wrist. Not that you care. You wanted to play hide n’ seek and that was something you needed moving seekers for. You’ve long discovered that the more people seeking, the more fun it is. Especially when it makes Slick mad. Well, more mad. You had missed him when he was gone, now that he’s back and well rested from vacation so you wanted to show him your appreciation. 

You don’t really see a problem with this.

You are small and fast, taking cover frequently down hallways wherever you can find it. You even pass by your bedroom at one point. You tell Casey that you and Hal are hiding and that she can’t tell anyone. She pops a bubble at you in confirmation. Satisfied, you continue your sneaking. 

You zip around this way and that, not really paying attention to where you are going. 

You giggle madly, ignoring Hal’s increasingly adamant protests. You are too lost in your game, too high on the imagined chase to notice anything else. It’s the most fun you’ve had in a while and nothing is going to stop you.

“John, you petulant peelord, stop running you’re gonna-”

That is until you slam into something-

No, someone.

You fall unceremoniously onto your butt with an ‘oof!’.

“Nice going, genius.”

A woman, pale and slender like a lily looks down at you, surprise is written on her pretty face. She is dressed smartly in a long white lab coat with shiny black heeled boots. A single black headband sits atop of her head almost like a tiara. 

You suddenly feel very embarrassed, heat rushing to your cheeks.

“Goodness, child. Wherever do you need to go in such a rush? You’d think that there was a foul beast you were fleeing from.” The woman says to you, an enigmatic look on her face. “I’m afraid to inform you that you’ve just bumped into something far worse than any beastie.” Is that..a real smile or is she laughing at you? You think that was a joke, but you really can’t tell. At the very least she doesn’t seem to be angry at you for being an idiot.

“Ground control to major John, aren’t you going to apologize? Don’t be so frickin’ rude, dude.”

Oh! Whoops, you were kinda staring for a second there. 

“I was gonna!” You stage whisper to Hal, then turning to the woman you say “I am really sorry, miss! I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”

A haughty brow arches up.

“To whom were you just speaking?”

“J-just you, Miss!” You squeak.

She taps a sharp, black nail on her chin in consideration. She cuts through you with her keen, catlike eyes. You turn your body a little bit so that Hal is out of her line of sight. 

“Hm. I see. In any case, no harm was done to my person despite the very clear threat to my life. However, it would seem that referring to me with the more youthful honorific ‘miss’ has placed you squarely within my favor.”

Uh, okay? That sounded like forgiveness. Kinda. A very backhanded sort of forgiveness.

She reminds you a little of Hal in that way; being nice in a mean sort of way.

To your surprise, she leans down and offers out a pale hand to you.

You feel your cheeks get really hot again and you shake your head rapidly. You get yourself back up and wipe off the imaginary dust from your red shorts and suspenders. You don’t have to, but you fix your bowtie as well. It’s even more disrespectful to appear so undignified in front of a lady than it is to bump into her!

Just then, a large and familiar shadow looms up behind her, hissing;

“ _Jonathan_.”

The warmth you had been feeling vanishes as though ice water has been dumped over you. You have not heard your father call you by your full first name in a long time.

“Please, enlighten me as to why you are missing your studies right now?”

The sudden jolt of his gaze causes your hackles to rise up. You can’t answer, you can’t even move with the way he’s looking at you. There is nothing particularly scary about his expression, per se, but you feel totally pinned by it.

Perhaps was the frigid tone in which he spoke or the flash of something rolling and crashing behind his eyes. It was an intense bolt of something that burned both hot and cold, like touching the metal part of a seatbelt in summertime.

Looking past both adults you can see both Mr. Boxcars and Mr. Droog posted at both sides of an ornate oak door. They both watch the scene before them with a mixture of passive intrigue and indifference. Neither one eager to get involved unless commanded to. You now recognize that the door they guard is the one to your father’s study. 

In your giddy running about the house, you had ended up in the one area you are forbidden to go on your own. Which is a stupid rule of course, but it was one of the few house rules that you shouldn’t break.

No loud noises when it's not recess or playtime.

No running in the hallways (you guess you broke that today, too. Oops.)

Always have adult supervision outside of your bedroom.

No biting the doctor.

And lastly...

Never, EVER, go near Dad’s study without asking an adult to escort you.(Hal was not an acceptable substitute for escorting duties, dad said)

You just fucked up big time.

“My sick robo calculations indicate that you may have figgity eff’d up big-” Hal stops. “ **Oxygen intake has dropped past sufficient levels**. Hey, John. Don't forget to breath, dingus."

His words coax you out of whatever panicked stupor you were stuck in. You suck in a deep breath that you didn’t realize you’ve been holding.

“Oh? So this must be your..son.” 

Your dad is the first to break eye contact with you in order to properly address the lady. 

“Indeed, he is.” He sighs “Although, Jonathan is usually more well behaved than what you have just witnessed. I am deeply mortified with him acting like a barbarian, especially in front of company. I assure you that this behavior will not go uncorrected.”

The cold disappointment dripping from his words and threat of punishment makes you feel queasy. You unconsciously curl Hal closer into your chest for comfort; your neck bared in submission. You feel smaller than an ant at this moment. Maybe you are a germ because you learned that those are smaller than ants or any bug. You’re no crybaby, but something in your gut makes you want to cry just because of the upset inside of you. That you were just playing and you didn’t hurt anyone. You are, however, a brat and part of you wants to scream back at Dad for making you feel so ashamed. The fact that you even have that thought makes you hate yourself more. 

The tears do not come.

Dad is already busy all of the time with work and you just made him upset. You want to make him happy so that he spends more time with you. He smiles so much more when he’s with you than anyone else. Now he is angry and won’t want to be with you because you are a bad boy who doesn’t deserve his father’s love.

You feel like you are less than dirt.

Miss Lalonde waves the offer away.

“There is no need, Mister Crocker. Young boys can be rather rambunctious and he has already apologized. I assure you that I am hardly so emotionally fragile that I would fall into hysterics by a child’s minor faux paux.”’

Taking the woman’s thin hand in his, Dad’s entire demeanor smoothes over into something cordial. Giving his most charming smile, he says;

“Yes, of course. You are most gracious, Ms. Lalonde. Were I more bold I would say that your patience very nearly exceeds your loveliness. Please, I urge a woman of your intelligence and common sense to rethink my offer. You and your family deserve only the very best.”

“Gag.” You hear Hal mutter to himself. You shush him. You’re already on thin ice as it is. Even you know that his sass won’t be appreciated right now.

She seems to soak in the words of praise, smiling arrogantly before taking her hand back. Ms. Lalonde slides her eyes back down at you with a particular look. Analytical and even a bit predatory. You don’t like it.

“I suppose that I can sympathize with your situation, Mr.Crocker. It must be difficult to raise your son on your own. The gods know that I miss my paramour, terribly. The memory of John’s mother must be an especially painful one as it must have led you into removing any images of her in your office.”

What is she talking about? It was an off color comment to be sure, but something about her words makes you a little uneasy. You really don’t know anything about your mother, only that she died when you were just a baby. You always assumed that Dad didn’t talk about her because it makes him upset, so you don't bother to ask. It’s not like you remember her enough to miss her, anyway. 

Perhaps it was just your imagination, but dad’s countenance appears to darken a fraction before regaining its previously placid state. 

“Ava was a good woman and I did not deserve her." He sighs "She was taken from this world too soon, as most good things in life are. You hold something within the palm of your hand one moment and then in the next it runs between your fingers like sand.“ 

“How poetic" She scoffs "Now, correct me if wrong, but I do not recall ever seeing her in the papers. Quite amusing when I myself have been tasked with writing articles about the very same mystery woman. As I have said, I am quite curious about learning what the woman who stole the heart of CrockerCorp’s own head looked like. Of course, most people, myself included, can understand a man of such consequence wanting to keep those kinds of matters private. Might I remind you that I may consider rescinding my answer for that interview?”

Unfettered, Dad adjusts his watch, projecting an air of nonchalance as he muses; 

“Your daughter Roxane should be a little bit older than John, yes? A comely name for a bright young woman. She just won a rather prestigious award for coding, I believe. That is most impressive, especially for one in such an early stage of life.”

“Yes, and I would like to remind you to not speak of my _daughter_ in such a blithe manner, Mr. Crocker.” Lalonde bites out. Catching the venom in her voice, she straightens her shoulders and in a calmer manner says “Please, do not interpret my rejection as an insult to you, that is not my intent. However, I will be frank; we will not be required to meet again after today. I can see that neither one of us is willing to budge.”

Without any fanfare, Dad bows slightly.

“My deepest apologies, dear lady. I will say that it is a terrible shame, I was hoping that we could make proper friends Ms. Lalonde, but I will respect your decision.”

Ms Lalonde’s eyes flicker back to you and Hal. 

“You don’t seem to be lacking in numbers where ‘friends’ are involved. I doubt that you will be aching terribly for my company.”

Dad huffs out a soft laugh before he looks up.

“Slick, there you are. You’re just in time to escort our guest out.”

You turn around to see Mr. Slick making his way towards your little group. 

“Do take care of yourself, madame. Times are always changing and I would hate to discover that you could not adapt.“ 

“You and your family.” He adds.

“You as well, Crocker. You and your..son.”

When Slick gets close enough, he looks totally disheveled. Stopping for a second, he leans over to catch his breath. Dad takes in his disorderly state with a small sneer.

“Once you’ve completed your task go and clean yourself up, Slick. We will talk later.”

You can feel the daggers that Slick is glaring into your spine.

  
~~~  
  
  


In his office, Dad decides to punish your behavior by making you have your lessons solely within the confines of your bedroom instead of the library. This is because you have your own private bathroom attached to it with a big tub and everything. No more leaving Ms. Paint’s sight until she dismisses you for recess to have out in the backyard.

You are sent back to your room right after.

Hal doesn’t rub it in, but he doesn’t comfort you either, saying;

“Hey, I warned you dog, I told you about the study, bro.”

You swallow down a scream, tiny fists shaking. 

To make things even worse, Mr. Slick and Mr. Deuce both go on another vacation at the same time. They are completely sick of you by now, no doubt.

You want to go to the beach.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> here's the song from the lyrics: Ella Fitzgerald - It's Only a Paper Moon 
> 
> ....its from 1959 and wouldn't be on a gramophone but shhhhhh


End file.
